Cell Fight

As a man openly pissed in a corner Mark sighed sadly. He did not belong here. Loneliness engulfed those thoughts along with his mind. He would not cry though. He would never cry.

Mark could do nothing of the past. It was of no use to him now. Now he must focus on the present. What was Mark going to do? He sat on the dirty wooden bench in the holding cell. One knee supported his chin as he bit his nail.

A harmless bump. That’s all it was. A man, infested by a drunken stupor most his life, stumbled as an octopus would into the very edge of Mark’s vision. Tripping over his own feet he bumped against Mark’s shoulder.

“Sorry brother,” The man stood and looked down at him through filmed eyes. “Didn’t see you there,”

“It’s alright.” Mark looked the man up and down before returning to his musing. The man continued to look down at him however.

“What’s wrong brother?” The man reached forward to grip the same shoulder he’d assaulted. “Ain’t I said sorry?” He gripped Mark’s shoulder tighter. “Why you want to ignore me like that? Think you’re too good to rise when a man such as I speaks to you?”  

Mark looked at the man with serious confusion and contempt. Why was he doing this? Any other man would have risen up and punched the offending man square in the jaw. Mark had hardly even noticed him. Why would purposefully pick a fight with someone who didn’t mean any harm? He thought he’d given him what he wanted. Apparently he wanted the opposite.

He wore a smirk on his face as he grabbed Mark by the shirt collar and hauled him to his feet. Mark didn’t fight against the pull. He really didn’t like to fight. But he supposed that, while he was here, he would have to put that personal distaste aside if he wanted to stay alive and with a shred of pride intact.

“What you going to do brother?” The waft of deprivation engulfed Mark’s senses as the man whispered closely. He glanced around. His other cell mates were not looking, not listening, but were very much paying attention. In this small of a place nothing goes unnoticed. No one rose to aid either man in their conquest. This suited both just fine.         

Without another word the man swung back to hit. Quickly, as one who has done the move before, Mark ducked out of the way, feeling the breeze over his head as a fist parted the air where his nose had been, and lurched forward, knocking the man off balance. Training kicked in and before the blink of an eye could be finished Mark had the man in a choke hold. Moments later he passed out.

A minute later a guard passed by. “What’s wrong with him?” He asked, motioning to the motionless body left lying in the middle of the floor.

Mark shrugged and the guard moved on, little concern on his face. Mark leaned back and rested his chin on his knee again. His father had always told him to make the best of any situation he found himself in.

Mark would try.